


Through the Fog

by cookiegirl



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Birthday, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father Figures, Found Family, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiegirl/pseuds/cookiegirl
Summary: Birthdays can be tricky things when you're twelve and your dad's a serial killer.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Jackie Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly
Comments: 22
Kudos: 42
Collections: Gen Freeform Exchange2020





	Through the Fog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cornerofmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/gifts).

This is the perfect birthday party. It’s everything a twelve year old boy could want. Malcolm is sure of that, because his mother hired the best party planner in the city, and made it very clear that no expense was to be spared. There are professional entertainers, flawless decorations and tables piled high with food. There might be less children than his mother had catered for - Malcolm knew that plenty of parents would keep their kids away from the party of a serial killer’s son, even if his mom hoped otherwise - but the kids that are there are obviously having a good time.

Malcolm just wishes he was one of them.

“Are you having fun, darling?” his mother asks, approaching the chair at the side of the room where he’s settled himself. There’s a bright lipstick smile on her face and an overly-frosted slice of cake on a plate in her hand. 

He looks up at her, nods and smiles. Words mostly desert him these days.

“Why don’t you talk to some of the other children?” his mom suggests, raising her eyebrows encouragingly. “I’m sure they’d love to hear from the birthday boy.”

Malcolm shrinks back further into his chair and looks down at his lap. His mom makes it sound so easy. She doesn’t know the names these kids call his father; she doesn’t know the names they call him. 

(When he told his therapist about the bullying, she taught him the fogging technique. She told him to imagine he was in a huge, white bank of fog, and that insults and taunts were swallowed up by it before they got to him. It worked, at first. But at some point, that safe cocoon became a wall of fog so thick that nothing could reach through it, and he couldn’t reach back out.)

Above him, his mother sighs. She holds out the cake to him. “Red velvet, your favorite,” she says. 

Malcolm takes the plate. His mom’s right, red velvet has always been his favorite. Every birthday he can remember, he's had the same flavor. He can see the images in his mind now, stretching back across the years. His dad, bringing the cake out on a platter. His mom and dad singing happy birthday to him. His dad helping him blow out the candles when he was very young, or standing behind him and cheering the first time that Malcolm managed to blow them all out in one breath by himself. His dad cutting the cake, knife slicing easily through the pale frosting and red sponge. And he can see himself, sitting on his dad’s lap, his feet swinging in the air, licking cream cheese frosting from his fingers. 

He bites his lip. “Thanks, mom,” he says, feeling sick, though he doesn’t know why. His mother turns to leave, and he speaks without thinking. “Can I go over to Gil’s later?”

His mom blinks in surprise, and then he can see the hurt flash over her face, so quick that most people would have missed it. Malcolm has learned not to miss anything.

“To tell him about the party,” Malcolm adds, quickly. “I want to tell him how great it is.”

His mother’s expression relaxes just a little, though her eyes remain sad. She reaches down, cupping the side of his face gently in a cool hand. “If that’s what you want, darling. I’ll get Adolpho to drive you over after dinner.”

“Thanks,” Malcolm says, feeling like a little of the weight he’s been carrying today has lifted off his shoulders. His mother heads off to talk to one of the other parents, and Malcolm looks down at the slice of cake on the plate in his lap, but doesn’t eat it.

\---

“Malcolm!” Jackie says in surprise, as she opens the front door, letting warm light spill out into the dark street, illuminating the boy on her doorstep and the limousine parked in front of the house.

“Um, hi,” Malcolm says, and then shifts awkwardly on his feet. “Is it...is it okay that I came?” Gil has said more than once that he’s welcome over any time, but Malcolm hasn’t made a habit of turning up out of the blue, even though he’s wanted to. Today, though... today he couldn’t resist the urge.

“Of course, sweetie,” Jackie says, ushering him inside into the warm, and helping him out of his coat. “And a very happy birthday to you! I thought we were seeing you tomorrow, for a meal with your mom and Ainsley?”

Malcolm nods, keeping his eyes downcast as he toes off his sneakers. “Yes. I just…”

Jackie smiles and wraps a soft arm round him. “I’m glad we get to see you today as well,” she says, and leads him to the kitchen at the back of the house. “Gil? Our favorite visitor’s here!”

Gil turns in his chair and when he sees Malcolm, his face splits into a grin. “Hey, kid! Happy birthday!”

Malcolm finds himself grinning back, and it feels like the first time he’s smiled properly all day. The tight feeling in his chest that was present throughout the party starts to loosen, and it doesn’t hurt so much to breathe.

“Come ’ere,” Gil says, holding out his arm, and Malcolm steps over next to his chair and lets Gil pull him to his side, his hand settling on Malcolm’s shoulder. Gil’s strong and solid and his hold is firm, tethering Malcolm back to the world he’s been floating away from.

“How was your party, sweetheart?” Jackie says, already starting to make cocoa for Malcolm. She never needs to ask what he wants to drink.

Malcolm tenses, his mind flashing back to those awkward hours, but he immediately feels Gil’s fingers start to rub tiny circles across his shoulder, and the tension can’t quite maintain its grip. 

“Fine, thank you,” he says politely.

“Too many annoying rich kids, huh?” Gil jokes, and Malcolm presses in closer to him.

“Did you get some nice presents?” Jackie says.

Malcolm nods. “Mom got me a new science kit, and some clothes and...” He trails off, suddenly embarrassed, thinking of the huge pile of presents that had awaited him this morning: games, toys, designer outfits. Looking back, he’s not sure he really let his mom know that he appreciated any of it. He’s not sure how much of it really registered with him.

“Well,” Gil says, “we got one more for you, kid, if you think you got room for another.”

Malcolm nods quickly. “I got room.”

Gil grins as Jackie sets the cocoa in front of Malcolm and puts a wrapped box next to it. Malcolm’s fingers go to the bow on top automatically, pulling at the ribbon more enthusiastically than he did any of his earlier gifts.

“Gil chose it,” Jackie says drily from above him, and Malcolm glances up to see her give Gil a long-suffering, amused look.

Malcolm rips off the shiny paper, and underneath is a huge package of multi-coloured lollipops: cherry, orange, lime, lemon and blackcurrant flavours. Malcolm finds himself smiling so hard it hurts.

“I know your mom doesn’t really like you to have sweets outside your birthday, but…” Gil shrugs. He’s never said anything, but Malcolm knows he understands that it comforts him to have something to suck on when he can’t find the words he needs, something to do with his hands when they start to shake. 

“I love them, thank you,” Malcolm says, smiling at Gil and Jackie in turn.

“You want something to eat, now, Malcolm, or are you full from birthday cake?” Jackie asks.

“Oh.” Malcolm shoves his hands back in his pockets. “I didn’t...I didn’t...have any of my cake.”

There’s a second of silence, where the only thing in Malcolm’s world in Gil’s hand on his shoulder, but then Jackie is bustling around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors, looking for something.

“Well, we can’t let you finish your birthday without cake,” she says. “I’m sure I have something here somewhere…”

She pulls out a box from one cupboard, and a small tin from another, and then she’s piling a packet of store-bought brownies into a pyramid shape on a plate, and sticking a single birthday candle in the top. She places it on the table and grabs a pack of matches to light the candle.

“There,” she says, stepping back, triumphant. “Almost as good as a cake.”

“Better,” Gil says. “I prefer brownies.” He nudges Malcolm. “Blow the candle out,” he says. He doesn’t tell Malcolm to make a wish. Malcolm wonders if it’s because he knows Malcolm doesn’t believe in wishes any more.

Malcolm takes a deep breath and blows, and the candle flame disappears in a wisp of smoke. Gil and Jackie applaud like he single-handedly put out a house fire, and Malcolm laughs, blushing. But Gil moved his hand off Malcolm’s shoulder to clap, and he feels the loss too keenly. He leans against Gil as Jackie starts to put brownies on side plates, and lets his weight rest on him, feeling heavy and burdensome but unable to stop himself. He’s too old for this, much too old, but a tiny part of him wishes that Gil would pull him onto his lap.

Jackie gives him the brownie from the top of the pile, the one with the candle in, and he smiles at her and reaches for the plate.

“Sit down to eat, sweetie,” she says, and Malcolm throws a worried glance at the spare kitchen chair: on the other side of the table, too far from Gil. He hesitates, and then he feels strong arms around him, moving him, and suddenly he’s sitting on Gil’s knee. 

“He’s fine here, Jackie,” Gil says mildly, shifting him into a comfortable position as though he’s light as a feather.

Malcolm leans back into him, feeling the scratchy wool of Gil's cardigan on his cheek and the solidness of Gil's body around him, and for the first time since waking up that morning, he thinks maybe he _is_ fine.

He picks up his brownie and bites into it, and he’s pretty sure it tastes better than red velvet cake ever did.

\----

_Eighteen years later_

“To Bright!” Gil says, holding up a paper cup in the office break room, standing next to Malcolm.

“To Bright!” the others chorus. Edrisa is bouncing a little in excitement, and Dani is smiling at Malcolm with unusual softness over the rim of her cup. JT is eying up the food on the table.

“Can we eat now?” JT asks as soon as they’ve toasted Malcolm.

Malcolm laughs. “Knock yourself out,” he says, and JT dives into the chicken wings, while Edrisa and Dani head for the sandwiches. 

Malcolm and Gil, however, go straight for the pyramid of brownies with the candle in the top, just like they do every year.


End file.
